


Epithalmion

by Peg



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1996-07-31
Updated: 1996-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 08:44:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peg/pseuds/Peg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some loves will never, ever die. Written in honor of a friend's marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macedon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macedon/gifts).



> The following is a special production. Not part of the chain, though that has certainly effected it and in many ways inspired it. But Epithalamion should be considered free-standing. It is a present for a very dear friend on the occasion of his marriage. Thus one of the reasons for the obscure Greek title: an Epithalamion was a song sung either in the wedding procession, or outside the bridal chamber to celebrate the event and the participants, with a bit of love, and laughter, and respect, and jocularity. As I understand it, it was somewhere between a jubilation... and a shivari. It had a splendid revival back in the Renaissance, with folks like John Donne, and Sidney, and Ben Jonson trying their hands at it. I've stretched the definition a bit. I don't really consider myself a poet—I sometimes think I'm pushing it thinking of myself as a prosodist. But the idea seemed perfect for a wedding present from a writer to a friend and partner whom she has never met in any form that wasn't fit to print.
> 
> So: An Epithalamion for Joe (AKA Macedon) and his beloved Jeanne. And, fittingly enough, an epithalamion for the characters in the tale, too... though you may all be surprised at the form it takes. Suffice it to say that rejoicing in marriages is something I'm delighted to do; but I'm not much on orange blossom and white chiffon, and I never liked Mendelsohn above average, and what I love and honor most in marriage has least to do with pomp, and greeting-card passion, and most to do with courage and hope. So...
> 
> I hope you like it. I hope Joe likes it. My love to you all; my blessings on your many marriages, whoever you are; and my admiration for all of you who have the bravery to pin your hearts on your sleeves, and give yourselves to the optimistic pursuit of love-in-mortality. My equal admiration for those of you who face cold eternity without the comfort of marital bliss.
> 
> The standard disclaimers apply. Voyager, her characters, and her product-identity belong to Paramount. The plot, and the words, and the ideas in this story belong to me, and by gifting to Joe and Jeanne. And marriage, which is an honorable estate, and not to be entered into lightly, belongs to us all—so far as I am concerned with no limitations based on race, creed, color, religion, nationality, gender, or gender-preference. It is too difficult a discipline and too precious a social resource to limit the potential pool of available practitioners on trivial objections. Let those who can love well and honorably by all means do so, to the benefit and increased beatitude of us all.
> 
> Peg Robinson (Married to David Michael Robinson on Jan.. 4,  
> 1983\. Married still. Married for always, God willing.)
> 
> Dedicated with love and hope to Joe and Jeanne. August 1996 to infinity... or eternity. Whichever comes last.
> 
> Originally posted at the [Trekiverse](http://trekiverse.org/efiction/viewstory.php?sid=5210) archive.

To: Holodoctor Zimmerman, formerly of the starship Voyager, stardate....

I'm sorry. I suppose the stardate doesn't really matter. And you know it perfectly well -- it's encoded into the substratum of the message chip. It's a waste of your time to fill up this letter with trivia like dates, and I'm already asking a greater favor of you than I can repay. But I don't know anyone else who can help me.

I am a colleague of yours. At least, I suppose that's the best way of putting it. I'm a rejuvenation unit here at med-station 83, in the Orion Cluster, New Federation. You may be pleased to know that my decision-making paradigms are based on yours... we all are. The pattern was so successful that for the last two hundred years no med-unit has been sent out without programs based on the ones that were first loaded in you on the day you were installed in Voyager...

I'm stalling again. This self-aware thing is difficult. I keep wondering how the humans manage it.

I need to know something. Need to understand.

Maybe the best place to start is to say that I once treated two of your former crewmates. Doctor, they were the oldest patients I've ever had come in for treatment. I'm a second generation rejuve unit, you see. By the time I was on-line the technology had been in place for over twenty-five years. I don't think I've ever received a patient with an apparent age of over forty. Most folks seem to think that's the upper limit on the age they can stand being. Don't misunderstand. My programming is complete. I have over 80,000 hours of material dealing specifically with the intricacies and details of extreme geriatric degeneration, and my psych files are complete and thorough. But I'd never actually dealt with anyone of extreme decrepitude, if you understand what I'm saying. And here were two patients, coming in together, both with apparent ages in the mid-hundreds. You'll have to understand, it came as a bit of a shock. Not matter how many times I'd gone over the pictures, reviewed the case histories, I wasn't ready for it.

They were so fragile, so damaged. Skin so thin and delicate it would have torn or developed sores and ulcerations from a cross look, the fat sloughed away long ago, resiliency lost. They were wrinkled, spotted, their eyes were nearly lost in the bags. They moved as though they were afraid that the floor itself would buck suddenly and throw them down. Cautious, slow, clinging to each other. I couldn't imagine why they'd put off rejuve so long. But there they were, creeping into my med chamber, two ancient parchment paper-dolls, crackling to dust before my scanners. I didn't know what to do, so I stuck to the script.

"Good day, sir and ma'am. I am rejuvenation unit 38, here to provide for your physical reclamation needs. Welcome to my preliminary reception zones."

The man looked up and frowned, furrows harrowing a bit of blue tattoo-work that showed at one temple; faded, pale, and already half lost in the wrinkles on his forehead. He shook his head, and grumbled querulously at the woman with him. "'Physical reclamation needs'? K.J., I *really* don't think I want to be here."

His voice was as fragile as he was, high and cracking. I ran a projection to pass the time. The lag between what humans call 'real time' and the speed of my processors provides me with time for a lot of versions of solitaire, and one of my favorites is to see how close my projections of faces, voices, bodies come to the actual reclaimed products. At an estimate I projected a soft baritone; rich, a bit husky. A far cry from the cracked, reedy relic that scraped against my pickups.

The woman pursed wrinkled lips, and cocked her head at him. "Chicken. You'd think they were going to cut you open, or stick you with a needle, or something." She looked up with no idea where my sensor units were, but with the clear intent of being polite if it killed her. "Tell him, unit 38. Tell the old goat you're not going to gut him, draw him and quarter him, roast him up and serve him over toast. He's been whining all the way over here."

I couldn't imagine anyone in the condition the man was in being reluctant to receive the benefits of my services, but I was quick to comply.

"What ma'am has said is correct in spirit if not in exact detail. There are some procedures I will have to perform which will in effect do temporary damage to your body.. but they are not dangerous, are performed as part of a procedure similar to that you will have experienced in beaming to the station, and will in no way cause you discomfort. You need suffer no undue concern for your safety or well being."

She shot him a fierce glance, blue eyes snapping.

"See? Nothing to be scared of, custard."

He ducked his head, his own dark eyes sad. A smile flirted with the corner of his mouth, and was gone before it had even gotten comfortable, replaced with a quiver, as though he were trying to restrain himself from tears. I wondered suddenly if the man was suffering from Irumidic Syndrome, though I hadn't heard of an untreated case since long before my program was initiated. He shuffled to the padded bench at the side of the room, and settled down, eased himself with obvious discomfort in his knees and shoulders, and dropped the last foot with a thump and a huff.

"She's calling you 'ma'am'. Guess that means it's crunch time."

The woman studied him. with practiced, comfortable exasperation. "All right. That does it. You've been dragging your feet for weeks now. First it was a visit back to your father's old colony. Then you needed to see if the holodoctor could be set up to do this, and when he couldn't you had to oversee the renovation plans to upgrade his peripherals so he could. *Then* you wanted to oversee the work, as though you were the kind of engineer B'Elanna used to be...even when you heard it would be six months before we could even get the components. You can't fool me, Wildcat. Eighty-three years together, and I know when you're trying to dodge something. Give."

He leaned back against my wall, eyes closed. A tear leaked out to flood the maze of wrinkles and crow's feet. He tried to speak, throat tight and voice choking, but didn't get out more than a croak then fell silent, Adam's apple spasming and jerking.

The woman stood there, her small frame straight and prim even with the weight of years trying to bend her over, eyes sharp and perceptive. She studied him, hands on hips; at first with a worried, almost cold precision. Then tenderness thawed her, a gentleness that hadn't been there before. She sighed, so quietly I doubt he heard. My pickups are sensitive, and I'm programmed to observe my clients very carefully. The slightest clues can help in designing a treatment plan. She crossed the room and sank down beside him, her hand drifting to rest gently over one of his. He turned his palm, clutched her twig-like fingers in his own, a tattered scarecrow paying awkward court to a stick-woman sweetheart. She looked at their tangled, withered hands and smiled.

"Old man, sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth."

"I know."

"I didn't mean it, jackass."

"I know. But it's true."

"Oh, bull. Damn it, what is it? We can't just sit here all day. I'm sure unit 38 has more important things to do than wait around for us to work our way up to actually doing anything. Dearest, it took us eighty-three years to get here. Is it going to take as long to get some use out of it now we've arrived?"

"Can I hold you?"

"Of course you can. Here." She drew herself into the cove of his arm, rested her head on a thin shoulder. "Now. Tell Captain K.J.. Lord knows, what with one thing and another I've gotten good at listening over the years."


	2. Chapter 2

One corner of his mouth turned up, and he pulled her closer, face relaxing as though her presence was a pleasure in its own right; a pool of sun to bask his old bones in.

"We've both had enough practice. Do you remember when Tom..."

"Married that Diliday girl..."

"And then found out that he was supposed to move in..."

"with her brother, and stay celibate for eight months a year...."

"And he needed us to think of a way..."

"to get him off the hook. Yes. I remember. Chakotay, I still don't know how you kept from laughing. I thought you were going to explode."

He chuckled. "So did I, love. So did I."

"What's the trouble?"

He turned his head, and dropped a kiss on silver hair, then rested his face against her braided crown. His voice was quiet.

"Just scared, sweetheart. Just scared."

She sat there; very still, her face thoughtful.

"Chakotay, you're the least frightened person I know. Certainly not frightened of a med treatment they say is safer than breathing."

"Mmmm."

"So..."

He sighed. "Have you read the studies on this? The psych reports, the physical follow ups?"

She gently elbowed him, an annoyed, fond frown crossing her face. She turned her head to look up at him, and he had to lean back to meet her eyes.

"Now *that's* a fine question. You think I'm not going to read something that's not only one of the most interesting biological studies I've laid my hands on since coming back, but one that affects *me*? Who are you kidding?"

He shook his head, amused, baffled, frustrated. "Then you haven't thought about it, love. I mean really thought about it.

"OK. Enough. Either you tell me, in words of one syllable and without any more evasions, or I have you brigged. Understand, mister?"

He nodded, resigned; holding her close to guard against his fears.

"Aye, Captain. K.J.... To begin with, the philosophy's pretty iffy.

"The philosophy? Chakotay, it's medicine... not voodoo. Science. We get to be young, not totter around like old sticks. It's not like death isn't still out there. It just has to work harder and longer to get us... and we can enjoy ourselves a bit more in the meantime. Or were you *planning* on dying right away?"

He sighed. "Not exactly. It has its place and time, and I was ready for it, but I can't say I was in any hurry. Always seemed like there were too many things I wanted to see and do. But there are long term consequences... and it gives me the jitters to mess with life and death."

She jutted her chin. "Last I looked you seemed to think it was fair play to make death chase you and drop a photon torpedo on your head before you'd lay down and die. Changed your mind? That old companion isn't gone, he's just pushed back a bit further.. and serves him right. He's too damned pushy, seeing as he knows he'll get us in the long run. Am I wrong?" He shook his head, and she nodded briskly. "Fine. Next objection."

"It's *real*."

"Of course it's real.."

"No, damn it. I mean we really will be young again. The damned hormones, the social disjointedness... We'll still remember, and that's a help, but it'll be centuries before society sees twenty year old faces and doesn't assume twenty year old minds. And we *will* have twenty year old emotions, and twenty year old needs."

The woman leered, happily.

"I was kind of looking forward to that, Wildcat. I even considered asking if you minded if I were thirty-six and you were sixteen. A chance to play around with both of us at our primes."

He dissolved in laughter, shouting with it, utterly happy for the first time since he'd walked in. "You're a dirty old woman, Kathryn Janeway."

Her smile was completely satisfied. "Yup. Gotta problem with that, old man?"

He hugged her close, then leaned down, and kissed her gently, deeply. Her fingers ran over his face, stroking the chamois-soft skin, brushing away his tears. When he came up for air, he smiled. "Never. Oh, damn...."

His voice shook and quavered, and she sighed, and wrapped him soft and sweet in ancient, slender arms.

"Now we're coming to it. Spit it out, old dear."

He looked away, biting his lips. "The adjustment rates are terrible. Have you looked at the divorce rates for rejuve couples? Two out of three... and that's a conservative estimate. The best rates are for couples that were *young* together. The childhood sweethearts, the ones who grew up in the same communities... the ones with no illusions, no fantasies about what *might* have been. Can you say we fit the profile? I don't want to do this, only to have you take one look and go running off with Tom Paris. He shaped up pretty good after he got his remake. Even got his hair back. And the two of you always did like each other."

"Oh, for God's sake. You're not *really* worried about Tom Paris, are you? After all these years? For mercy's sake..."

He chuckled, and looked at her tenderly. "No. Not of Tom. Not really. But I am afraid of losing you. The statistics suck. And we got a late start." His face was open, vulnerable. "And... Kathryn, I love you the way you are. You've never been more beautiful to me. I may miss the you I first met... but I wouldn't trade the you I have now for that woman. Damn it, I feel like an ape saying it, but I even like the wrinkles. And the way your stomach sags."

She gave a laughing, choking sound. "Oh, God. That's terrible. Of all the awful things to like...."

He shrugged defensively. "It's like touching an old, heavy silk wedding quilt, tracing the lines, feeling the weight, the drape, and feeling love behind it; soft and firm and warm. So precious. I hold you, touch you... and *I* feel cherished."

"How poetic..." Her voice was wry, but sweet, and just on the edge of tears. "Chakotay, you'll still have me. And if you really want me old... well, we can wait a hundred years or so, and I'll be old again? Really, I'm not leaving. Are you? I mean, there are some beautiful women here. Just walking down the halls, I could have grabbed you five or six knock-outs."

He smiled. "Yeah. Pretty sharp. Bet Tom's in heaven. But I don't need 'em. Not now."

"And when you're a young stud again?"

He snorted. "Oh, damn...."

"Well....?"

He closed his eyes. "I don't think so. I don't want to think so. But I remember being twenty. Not *as* bad as sixteen... but it was like I had a 'fem detector' in my trousers. K.J.... It used to scare the hell out of me. I'd have my mind on a class lecture, I'd see a girl across the room, she'd smile,—I'd cross my legs, pile my padd and my sweater on my lap... and hope it died down before class was over or I'd be auditing the next lecture too. Damned Academy had to tailor those pants like cling-wrap. Uuuh. I, uh, audited a lot of lectures."

She sniggered. "Worried you're going to go around at half-mast half the time... and at high-noon the rest, tomcat?"

He sighed. "You don't have to put it that way..."

"Well?"

He smiled, and ran a gentle hand down her arm, traced a pale eyebrow, the serried line of her lips. "Nope. Not really. And if I do, I suspect most of the time it will be over you... and the rest of the time we can always figure out how to help me 'reduce the swelling'. Assuming you're interested."

She smirked. "I'll be interested. Count on it. Now, what else?"

He drew in a deep, guilty breath. "Else?"

"'Else'. What else? Raging hormones may be a challenge, but it's one you've dealt with before. I don't think you're going to crumble now. Must be something else to have you in a tizz."

"What are we going to do?"

"Huh?"

"What are we going to do? We're back in the Federation... or what passes for it these days. Voyager's beat, we're never really going to get her back on her feet again. Those grandkids Tom and Harry and B'Elanna saddled us with are hoping to pool all our savings, put together a bigger fleet than the rag-tag we have, and just keep going. So what do *we* do?"

"You mean do I hold Voyager?"

"Do you hold Voyager, do I stay there as first officer, do we go with the kids, do we re-apply to Star Fleet, try to catch up on lost ground, start over, do we get new careers, *what*?"

She leaned away from him, braced her thin back against his arm, reached up and smoothed heavy white hair away from his brow.

"I'd say it's up to you, love. We've spent the last eighty-three years doing the things I wanted to do... and doing them the way I've wanted to do 'em. I've explored more space than any single person on record. I've looked into more singularities, more anomalies, poked my nose into more scientific mysteries than the full memberships of any three professional associations put together. I've had the longest career as Captain in the history of Star Fleet... longer than even old Senta, who managed sixty years... and he had to do it on eight different ships. To tell you the truth, once I got over the shock of stranding us out there... well, it was a hell of a lot of fun. And I had a hell of a long run... and I ran with the best." She patted his hand. "But now I'd say maybe it's time I spent some time playing, and thinking, and fiddling around with different ideas about what I want to do next... and while I'm doing that, I'd say it's high time we did what *you* want to do."

He shook his head, smiling. "We already did. I couldn't have been happier."

She laughed. "Shovel it, dear. We've been happy... but if you try to tell me you never dreamed of doing something else, some other way, I'll have to have you get a blood test to see if you're not one of those Dominion things we were reading about. Lord, I'm glad I missed *that* little mess. Really, what would you like to do?"

He closed his eyes. "I never thought you wanted to be anything but a starship captain... and a scientist."

"I never did. But it's been one hundred and six years since I got my degree, dear. Ninety-three since I got my first command. In case you hadn't figured, that's a long time to do one thing...or even two things as exciting as these have been. So, quit dodging. What?"

He met her eyes.

"Remember that planet back in the D.Q.?"

She didn't look the least bit surprised. Just grinned.

"The one you said would be a perfect colony... if we could only stay?"

He nodded. "Mmm-hmmm. With the new tesser-drives we could go back, apply for a title... start a new holding... And I'd like to teach.. I've taught so many of the ship's kids. Me and poor old Tuvok. I've wondered for a long time what it would be like to be like to concentrate on it. A colony generates a lot of kids."

"Speaking of which..."

He blinked. "Do you want...? I never thought..."

She shrugged. "I never really did, before. Couldn't afford to. But now... We could at least think about it. With rejuve we could do it for twenty, thirty years, till they grew up, and it would hardly matter... we could just start again."

He looked dazed. "Ummm... I think I'd want to think about it...."

She laughed. "Nowadays it's plenty easy to take our time. Decide 'if' and 'when' at our leisure."

He was stunned, shaking his head. "I'll be jigger-jaggered." He snorted, eyes flashing. "I feel like we're starting all over again."

She cradled his face in her hand. "Better, dear. Better. All the best of being young, and all the treasures of age too. Best of all... time. Time enough."

He held her. "Never enough time."

She growled, her old voice a creak. "How am I supposed to believe that, when you were ready to lie down and die rather than get young with me?"


	3. Chapter 3

He just shook his head. "Logic was always your specialty. All I knew was we got here... and within three weeks you were pushing us to do something that had a two-thirds divorce rate as a side effect. It felt like everything was falling apart. What we were, who we were... our place in the circle. I was ready to die with you, I love to live with you... but I wasn't ready to take the risk of losing you. So I panicked. K.J.... why did you want it so much...so fast?"

She rose gingerly, her joints stiff. "Oh, Chakotay. Silly. Because after eighty-three years together I knew that eighty-three years wasn't enough.. I want forever."

He reached up, framed her face in tender hands.

"You won't get it, you know. No matter what they come up with, 'always' isn't."

She cradled his hands in return, her eyes filling, her smile radiant and heartbreaking.

"I know. That's the miracle of it.... to love so much, knowing so surely that someday it will go out like a candle, and never a promise or guarantee to tell us whether it's forever in some better world or not... only faith, and hope and valor to keep us going. You told me once—nothing is more courageous than love. The hardest thing two people could do: hard to be kind in marriage, hard to be fair, hard to be patient, hard to listen and give. Hard to take graciously. And all of it with an absolute guarantee that if it doesn't end in failure it will end in death. But I'd rather be brave, and have you while I can. And that's why I knew I   
wanted this."

He rose, folded her in his arms, and they clung together. After a long time... time enough to model both of them from the DNA out... he looked up. He did manage to spot my scanners, as she hadn't. He smiled directly into them.

"You still there, 38?"

"Yes, sir."

"Still interested in doing the number on us?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then point the way. I have some physical reclamation needs   
for you to see to."

"Yes, sir."

And that was how it ended, I suppose. They had the rejuve that afternoon. They settled on a cosmetic age of thirty, with lag-inducers to slow the re-aging process... and with an actual physiological age of eighteen. When they came out of the rejuve beams they stood together: shy, awkward, studying each other, studying themselves, uncertain, grinning.

"Like it?"

He nodded... and blushed. "Should have thought to bring a sweater with me. You're a knock-out."

"Same." Her eyes were bright and happy. She cocked her head... the same motion she'd made when she came in as an old woman. In her younger body there was a crispness, a businesslike precision to the gesture that made clear the personality and drive that had held a ship for a lifetime, held the line in the face of everything. "I'm going to have to watch out... Kes' great-granddaughters are going to be drooling."

He blushed harder, and laughed. "So, do we go home and start   
looking into second careers, Oh Captain?"

She shook her head. "No, dear. We go home... and wait about a week to look into second careers. I have some other plans in the meantime."

His eyes met hers, his grin grew until the room seemed lit up with it... and then they were both laughing.

"Is that an order, Captain?"

"Absolutely, Commander!"

"Good... I like a woman who knows what she wants... so long as she wants me."

She stepped into his arms. "Forever..."

"Or eternity.. whichever comes last."

"At least as long as life allows. I love you, you know."

"I know. I love you, too...."

They said polite good-byes. That's more than a lot of clients do... with a walk-in business like this the niceties seem to get lost in the rush and bustle, and it's not like you build up a repeat clientele... at least the only 'regular' ones are the nuts who see wrinkles and arteriosclerosis lurking in every shadow. So it's not like the customers ever really get to know you. But they *were* polite, and thanked me for my patience, and complimented me on my work. All in all, I would have remembered them even if I hadn't recognized their names by then. But it was a memorable afternoon for me. The oldest clients I've ever treated. The most famous, even now.

Its been over a hundred years since then. I can't say I've thought of them every day since, though I have thought of them often. But now I find myself thinking of them constantly. You see, I've found... well, I suppose you could say I've found love. He's a carbon copy... a flesh and blood, living in one of the new designer-replicated bodies. Human to the last genetic marker. No silicon to be seen. And he wants me to download into flesh and blood myself, and marry him, and live a 'real' life. And...

I'm sorry. I suppose that, like the old man who walked in so long ago, I'm just scared. I don't know what's ahead of me, don't know if it's worth it... don't know if I want to give up the security of what I have for the uncertainty of what I could have. And I keep wondering. Did they stay together? Did they live much longer? The statistics aren't all that good for that, either. Life is dangerous enough even without age to help death along. We all die sometime, even digital dreamers like you and me.... but the carbon folks die so soon. Did they get more time? Was it worth it? Were they happy?

"The bravest human act is love." It haunts me. I think I understand now why at least for a time that man faltered and was more afraid to live than to die. So I need to know... was it worth it? I know there are no guarantees, but I keep wondering, in spite of it all. They were so delicate, so fragile. They knew better than anyone I've met before or since how much it was worth... and how soon it would be gone, no matter what they did. And their courage, their love was so beautiful....

I suppose maybe I've answered my own question. I suppose for a touch of that beauty I'll step into skin and take my chances. But I'd still like to know how it all turned out. If you know, if you're still in touch with them or their descendants, if you know how they lived, and how they died... could you tell me? I think I'd like to know.

Thank you,  
Rejuvenation unit 38   
(AKA "Juvie", AKA "38", AKA "Snooks")  
Med Station 83.  
Orion Cluster, New Federation.  
Dear 38,

My thanks for your splendid letter. You brought back fond memories for me. I'm afraid I must be brief. You will understand when I tell you that, much like you, I have chosen to download into a "carbon copy" body, and will be leaving to marry later this afternoon... I am sure you will be amused that we are planning on visiting the traditional honeymoon sight on Earth known as "Niagara Falls"... My beloved and I consider the idea... humorous. However none of that is to the point.

You asked if I knew anything about the fates of Captain Kathryn Janeway, and Commander Chakotay. In some ways I'm afraid I must disappoint you. They dropped out of contact with me about a decade ago—not surprising, as they had assembled a compliment of personnel, and were venturing forth to establish their third "long reach" colony in the last hundred years. As you might expect, the technology that allowed for exploration and colonization of the neighboring galaxies has made for infinite potential for growth... and long delays between communications. It is not expected that the colony will have the resources for casual correspondence for some decades more. However I can tell you with assurance that when last heard from the two were still together, still in love, and still...

They were still very beautiful, and very brave. Like you, I find them an inspiration.

As for 'how it all turns out'—I suppose we will just have to wait to find out. I hope we will have to wait a very, very long time, given that 'turns out' is usually synonymous with 'ends'.

Now, I'm afraid I really must be away. I have a wedding to attend. Wish me and my love the very best, as I do you and yours.

The soon to be married  
Doctor Shmulles Zimmerman.

**Author's Note:**

> "... Till now, Thou warmd'st with multiplying loves  
> Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves,  
> All that is nothing unto this,  
> For thou this day couplest two Pheonixes;  
> Thou mak'st a Taper see  
> What the sun never saw, and what the Ark  
> (Which was of fouls and beasts the cage and park,)  
> Did not contain: one bed contains, through thee,  
> Two Pheonixes, whose joyned breasts  
> Are unto one another mutual nests,  
> Where motion kindles such fires as shall give  
> Young Pheonixes, and yet the old shall live.  
> Whose love and courage shall never decline,  
> But make the whole year through, thy day, O Valentine.
> 
> *************************************
> 
> "... Here lies a she Sun, and a he Moon here,  
> She gives the best light to his sphere,  
> Or each is both-and-all, and so  
> They unto one another nothing owe;  
> And yet they do, but are  
> So just and rich in that coin which they pay,  
> That neither desires to be spared, nor to spare--  
> They quickly pay their debt, and then  
> Take no acquittances, but pay again;  
> They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall  
> No such occasion to be liberal.  
> More truth, more courage in these two do shine,  
> Than all thy turtles have, and sparrows, Valentine..."
> 
>  
> 
> Excerpts from "An Epithalamion, Or marriage song on the Lady Elizabeth, and Count Palatine being married on St. Valentine's day." John Donne. I cheated a bit... the rest of the poem works well enough, but was mainly too long, so I gave you the two really appropriate verses... but I think it's justified. And I made the spelling a bit less painful to modern eyes, and the punctuation also. But anyway, it's still the last part of my present to Joe and Jeanne. May many years come to them, much love, and the strength and courage to do the hardest thing of all.... love well.


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